Much of what followed was hard to verify as true or false.

For example, the clips that The Abyss had uploaded on social media, calling them videos of their victories.

Jang Si-hwan said all of those were fabricated, showed rebuttal footage, and continued his explanation.

The problem was that those very videos were fabrications—cases of inflating wins from small-scale skirmishes.

Say the Jeonghwa Guild lost five hunters and killed one hunter from The Abyss.

They hid the former and dressed up the latter in various ways to make it look as if there had been “no” sacrifice.

And for matters where the facts were too clear to conceal the defeat itself, all responsibility was shifted onto the Haeyeong Guild.

From Kang-hoo’s view—

It seemed Jang Si-hwan had already judged the Haeyeong Guild to have lost its usefulness.

That matched the real trend: recently, the Jeonghwa Guild had absorbed a large number of hunters who left Haeyeong.

As the Jeonghwa Guild began aggressively recruiting externally, the entry barrier dropped sharply.

Then many hunters from the Haeyeong Guild, who had been waiting for their chance, switched affiliation to Jeonghwa.

Official statements condemning Jeonghwa poured out from Haeyeong’s social media and elsewhere, but…

People trusted the Jeonghwa Guild’s claims more than the Haeyeong Guild’s, whose reputation was already awful.

No matter how much the Haeyeong Guild spoke the truth, it became a lie; for the Jeonghwa Guild, the reverse held.

Thus, it was possible for Jang Si-hwan to pin unfavorable circumstances on the Haeyeong Guild—with no blowback.

Social media is a space rife with manipulation, propaganda, and fake news, after all.

The citizens of Seoul saw only what they wanted to see and heard only what they wanted to hear.

And Jang Si-hwan’s briefing was filled only with rosy outlooks that satisfied their hopes and wishes.

“Even at this very moment, The Abyss’s fanatics are conducting human experiments on innocent civilians and prisoners.”

“The Abyss, those sons of—! Monsters! Die! Go to hell! Lunatics!”

The calmer Jang Si-hwan’s voice became, the more the audience’s reactions intensified.

Whenever they saw him bite his lip tight or lift reddening eyes to the sky—

Some in the crowd openly burst into tears.

It was a fierce empathy—wondering how much pain Jang Si-hwan must have felt at losing dear comrades and beloved citizens.

“I formally request this of Lee Hyun-seok, leader of The Abyss. War driven by conviction may be inevitable, but cease the slaughter of innocent civilians.”

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“Demon Lee Hyun-seok! You will be punished by heaven!”

“……”

Feeling as if he stood in the heart of a mass hysteria, Kang-hoo kept his mouth shut and felt their frenzy firsthand.

If he later took the opposite side from Jang Si-hwan, Lee Hyun-seok’s name would simply be overlaid with his own.

On the Dongducheon battlefield, The Abyss hunters captured by the Jeonghwa Guild would be slaughtered mercilessly—

Or else sold overseas through other routes. He didn’t need to visit the field to know.

But by putting a demonic frame entirely on Lee Hyun-seok, Jang Si-hwan focused all attention on one point.

One might briefly wonder whether there had been no abuse or slaughter on the Jeonghwa side—

But he redirected that into unconditional rage at The Abyss, blocking any other line of thought.

At Jang Si-hwan’s words—calculated from start to finish—Kang-hoo felt an eerie sense of déjà vu.

Probably because the original story had staged something similar through one of Jang Si-hwan’s speech scenes.

Back then, it had been a fine speech that inspired good citizens with good intentions.

Now, it was a scene of agitation that amplified collective frenzy and narrowed viewpoints.

‘This should be enough.’

He had seen what he needed.

He had seen the citizens’ current state and how Jang Si-hwan steered the flow to his own advantage.

Jang Si-hwan was a very clever hunter.

If Kang-hoo wanted to surpass him, he had to think beyond that—thoughts that stabbed the void of the void.

In the end, since Jang Si-hwan, too, was a figure Kang-hoo himself had painstakingly “made,” he could only give a bitter smile.

He had to prepare to shatter the tower he had built—more precisely than it was built. Twice as hard a task.

----------------------------------------

Leaving the venue, Kang-hoo moved to the relatively less crowded area behind the stage.

He had already cleared with Jang Si-hwan that he might leave midway, so there would be no issue.

From the start, the stage after the ceremony was essentially Jang Si-hwan’s solo show, and the crowd paid no attention to Kang-hoo.

He thought he had slipped out quietly—

But feeling someone following him, Kang-hoo stopped and turned around.

“……”

Kang-hoo looked blankly at the person who had followed. It had to be—Chae Gwanhyeong.

Whatever had gotten into him, Chae Gwanhyeong had been extremely hostile from the first moment he saw him.

He likely felt jealous because Jang Si-hwan kept showing interest in Kang-hoo.

Whether it was warped friendship or hostility toward an outsider—

That prickly temperament of his would surely give Jang Si-hwan headaches.

When Kang-hoo simply stared without a word, perhaps something snapped; Chae Gwanhyeong raised his voice.

“Shin Kang-hoo. No matter how high you fly or how fast you crawl, you’re not at my eye level. Lower your eyes, punk.”

Kang-hoo let out a hollow laugh.

If it had been a proper statement, he might have replied, but this wasn’t even worth answering.

Still, silence wouldn’t help either side, so he spoke his mind as is.

“Did anyone say anything? I haven’t said a word.”

Here, Kang-hoo decided: if Chae Gwanhyeong showed a modicum of courtesy, he’d use honorifics; if not, this would be the last honorific.

He put the odds at 99.9% for the latter. No one reforms overnight.

Chae Gwanhyeong said:

“Don’t even think about getting close with Si-hwan. Don’t fantasize about getting along with us.”

“So the one fantasizing is you, isn’t it.”

With no reason or grounds to bow his head, Kang-hoo raised his voice.

Kwoooooom!

Then Chae Gwanhyeong unleashed a massive surge of Dark Energy, pressing down on Kang-hoo with raw force.

An intimidation effect.

When crushed by powerful Dark Energy or holy power, one felt psychologically and physically diminished.

Kang-hoo tensed at the dense, Emilia-level weight of Chae Gwanhyeong’s Dark Energy.

He didn’t think highly of Chae Gwanhyeong as a person, but that didn’t mean he underestimated his skill.

If someone asked whether he could beat Chae Gwanhyeong—

Kang-hoo could only say he would do everything possible to win.

Lack of grit was a problem—but baseless optimism was an even bigger one.

Jang Si-hwan and his comrades were not the “brainless villains” you often saw in novels. They were shrewd beings who could think and judge as well as Kang-hoo.

Kang-hoo would not always be at full power while the opponent stayed at low power. That only happened in fiction.

‘In that case—’

Kwoooooom!

Kang-hoo likewise released a broad surge of Dark Energy from within, meeting it head-on—deliberately leaving a trace.

Just then, perhaps because the speech had concluded, Jang Si-hwan—who had stepped down from the podium—came running.

Since the traces were of tangled but distinct Dark Energies, there was no way someone attuned to Dark Energy like Jang Si-hwan would miss it.

“Chae Gwanhyeong, hey!”

“Damn it.”

Jang Si-hwan grabbed Chae Gwanhyeong by the scruff the moment he rushed up; Chae Gwanhyeong scowled.

“Out. Now.”

“This is between me and Shin Kang-hoo—”

“I won’t say it twice. Get lost.”

“……”

When Jang Si-hwan glared with eyes full of killing intent, Chae Gwanhyeong couldn’t say another word and withdrew.

He could ignore others, but not Jang Si-hwan—so he had to comply.

Right away, Jang Si-hwan hurried to Kang-hoo and bowed repeatedly in apology.

“I’m sorry. He sometimes shows that rough edge. When he sees a skilled hunter, he gets this inexplicable jealousy.”

“I see.”

Kang-hoo nodded with a flat expression. He had no intention of getting along with Chae Gwanhyeong anyway.

“Whatever else you do later, don’t ever become a guild master. Hahaha! It’s a pounding headache, it is.”

Laughing, Jang Si-hwan naturally fell into step beside Kang-hoo.

This area was restricted to authorized personnel, free from outside eyes.

“Shall we… walk a bit?”

“I was going to leave quietly.”

“I know. I won’t keep you long.”

“Then just up to there.”

Kang-hoo pointed to an exit about 500 meters away.

It was an entrance for officials, likewise under access control. In other words, a route with no outsiders.

As they walked slowly—

Kang-hoo and Jang Si-hwan spoke about the domestic power map, overseas trends, and growth directions as hunters.

It might have sounded cliché, but because the conversation partner was Jang Si-hwan, not a word could be taken lightly.

Quietly talking with him, one might think Jang Si-hwan seemed truly mild and steady.

But Kang-hoo had already seen through the thoughts underlying that exterior.

‘Because he still looks down on me. That’s why he can lavish goodwill and take care of me.’

Jang Si-hwan’s interest did not stem from benevolence.

If he ever thought Kang-hoo was more of a threat than now—or had such an experience—

From that point, he would try to tame Kang-hoo in one of two ways:

Either seize a weakness and hound him relentlessly, or identify it and keep him close as an ally.

He figured the current attitude toward him leaned closer to the latter.

The Thirteen Stars with him—i.e., the members of Justice—were the same.

Each member had some lack or flaw, and Jang Si-hwan knew them all.

How did Kang-hoo know?

Because that’s how Jang Si-hwan was in the original.

Only, in the original, the reason was to compensate for comrades’ weaknesses and to help them.

Now that things had flipped into a deluded, collaborator ending, the known weaknesses of comrades could only become “leashes.”

Kang-hoo intended to keep a measured distance from Jang Si-hwan as he did now—but not drift away either.

This razor’s-edge distance was just right—close enough that neither could act rashly.

Near the exit.

Jang Si-hwan shortened his stride and gazed quietly at Kang-hoo—as if there was something he truly wanted to say.

“Mr. Kang-hoo.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve felt this for some time, but… don’t we feel like people who have known each other for a very long time? Is it just my own déjà vu?”

‘The protagonist I created. And me, who ended up possessing the protagonist’s rival.’

For Kang-hoo, who knew exactly the reason for the déjà vu, Jang Si-hwan’s remark struck the heart.

Could it be… that he dimly sensed there was some link between himself and Kang-hoo?